


Seeing Not With Eyes

by KelAlannan



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, Newly blind character, Order 66, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9530579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelAlannan/pseuds/KelAlannan
Summary: The Force is shaken apart when the Empire rises. Chirrut's eyes and Baze's faith are two of the casualties.





	1. Chapter 1

Every Guardian in the Temple of the Kyber has a job, based on one's own innate abilities, the needs of the Temple, and the will of the Force. 

Chirrut Imwe joined the Guardians as a child and it was noticed when he immediately reached for the kyber crystal fragment around a Guardian's neck. He had an affinity for the stones, they said. A Jedi passing through said he could hear the music of the stones. Chirrut always thought he could hear them, but when few others could he realized he must feel them, as one half hears/half feels a vibration. So he was assigned work in the Kyberevn, first sweeping the floors, then polishing the stones, then maintaining the mines and following his senses to new crystals on the planet. 

Baze Malbus was nearly a teenager when he joined the Temple and his first wages went towards the purchase of a small, dilapidated blaster that he cared for like a beloved pet. It was no surprise when he apprenticed in the armory upon dedication. He maintained the Temple's staffs and weaponry and eventually taught rising Guardians to build their lightbows, while, on the side, experimenting with whatever weapons and tech crossed this path. 

From the beginning, Chirrut and Baze were inseparable. Cheerful, mischievous Chirrut took the scowling and skittish Baze under his wing and soon they were a force of nature, running through the market, calling out blessings to mollify elderly shopkeepers. In the Temple, they dedicated themselves to prayer, combat training, and their work. 

So the years pass, til they are in their mid 30s.

* * *

This afternoon, in the time between midday prayer and supper when all Guardians have their tasks, Chirrut is in the Kyberevn, the great hall where the oldest and rarest crystals were placed, polishing. Suddenly, it is as if the sun went out. He can still see the stone in front of him, but his head is as dark as if in a cloud of desolation. His stomach feels sick and he clutches the pedestal before him. A quake? A discordant humming fills the air and then there is an awful stillness. 

Screaming fills Chirrut's head. Several crystals around the hall, including the one he's standing in front of, shatter. He is showered with sharp, hot fragments. He lifts his hands to cover his face but it's too late. He collapses to the ground, bellowing, as his eyes erupt in pain the likes of which he has never known before. 

"I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me."

Under the red fire of pain, Chirrut prays and tries to keep his center calm. Is the Temple under attack? Has anyone heard his cries? He realizes he cannot rely on anyone finding him. He begins to crawl, shuffling hand and knee forward, noting distantly to not slip in his blood. 

He doesn't know how much time has passed before the floor below his hands changes. He's reached the corridor. He feels out to the side and finds the archway, using that to shakily stand. He keeps shuffling forward, hands before him to feel any obstacles, when he hears a shout. 

"CHIRRUT!"

Ah, here is Baze. Chirrut's smile looks more like a grimace, but he smiles anyway. He can always rely on his greatest friend to be there for him. He hears thumping footfalls as Baze runs closer, then he feels himself scooped up in the larger man's arms. Over his head, he hears Baze repeating "We are one with the Force and the Force is with us." It seems like as good a time as any to pass out. 

 

* * *

 

Baze runs swiftly but carefully to the healer quarters. He tries to not look down at the mask of blood and pain that is so different from Chirrut's normal smile. As they enter the healers' rooms, he finds First Healer, a Jedi, on her knees, weeping. "What's going on?"

She starts and looks up at him. Ignoring his question, she asks, "What happened?" 

"I don't know, I found him wandering the halls like this." He lays Chirrut down on the bed indicated.

The Jedi studies him carefully. "I need to know what happened. And I'll need help." 

Baze wants to protest, he doesn't want to leave the bedside, but he knows this is how they'd save him. He strides out and follows instinct to the closest place he'd find other Guardians. Fortunately, one of those present is a healer. "You, come with me to medical. You," singling out another, "Guardian Imwe was injured, we need to know how. I found him in the Second Plainward corridor. You can start there, follow the blood trail. Report to medical." The girl runs to do his bidding, while the healer follows him back to Chirrut. 

The man goes to help, while Baze lurks over their shoulders nervously. Not unkindly, the First Healer chides, "He will be no better for your watching. Wait by the door, if you will." Baze stares into Chirrut's face, cleaned mostly of blood by now, and nods. He has never needed Jedi healing himself, but he knows concentration is necessary. He nods and sits beside the corridor entrance. "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me." The Force holds together the Temple, the moon, the galaxy, everything. It will hold Chirrut together too. 

 

* * *

 

It has been long enough since he had spoken with the Junior Guardian that he begins to wonder if something had happened to her too. But then she comes, following the First and Second Guardians of the Whills. Baze jumps to his feet. 

"You found him?" First Guardian asks. 

"Yes."

Without saying anything further, they sweep into the room and Baze follows. 

"We believe Guardian Imwe was struck by an exploding kyber crystal. Fragments of several were found in the Kyberevn."

The First Healer nods sadly. Baze suddenly remembers that she'd been weeping when he came in. "There is an unbalance to the Force that may have been too much for the less stable ones."

"An unbalance?"

"Before he was brought in, possibly when the crystals broke, I heard voices cry out and be silenced. Children's voices, too. Our Padawans. I know not why."

Baze goes cold, but presses, "Will he be okay?"

She turns to him. "He will live. There was great damage to his eyes, I do not know if they will work again. I will do what I can, as the Force wills."

Another Guardian enters the room. "There are clone troopers here. They say they must speak with the head of the Temple and any Jedi present."

The First Healer looks troubled. She turns to the young man assisting her and starts conferring with him on Chirrut's care. Baze makes sure to listen in. He does not know why she is telling them all this. Aftercare won't be needed for several days, he thinks. She eventually clasps the healer's arm and says, "May the Force be with you." She squares her shoulders and leaves. The Guardians all follow her, until only the healer and Baze remain, with a still unconscious Chirrut. Baze hops up on the bed beside Chirrut's and lays back. Looks like he'll be here a while. 

 

* * *

 

Chirrut wakes to darkness. There is much less pain than he last knew, which is an improvement. He blinks a few times. Opens and closes his hands. "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me."

He hears a low dry chuckle just next to him. "Unfortunately the Force is a little busy right now."

Baze. Relief rushes in. "The Force is everywhere at all times. Even in places where one has forgotten to light the torches."

There is a long ugly pause. "You're in the healer's quarters. It's an hour past sunrise. There is light here, but kyber crystal fragments took out your sight."

Chirrut sits up then lifts his hands to his face. There are scratches on his face, covered by poultice. He remembers now slipping in his own blood on the floor of the Kyberevn. His hands come to his eyes and he closes them, feeling the thin skin of his eyelids, the brush of his lashes. The skin torn a little at the corner of his left eye.

He feels a whisper of air as Baze approaches and sits next to him, placing a hand on his knee. A loud clunk follows. "What is that?"

"Bow." 

"You're armed in the Temple? Were the crystals from an attack?"

Baze squeezes his knee. "There was an attack. Later. The Galactic Empire has decided that the Jedis are a threat to the galaxy. City troopers asked to meet with our Jedis and executed them. Including First Healer. First Guardian is gone too; he tried to stop them. We're sheltering some of the sensitive children, but we're hearing there's a hunt on. It appears your crystals exploded when a Sith lord, Darth Vader, went to the Jedi Temple and slaughtered every Jedi and Padawan there. First Healer...had said the crystals may have been responding to an unbalance in the Force."

Chirrut's hand covers Baze's and clutches it for dear life. "Tell me all."

 

 

When the telling is done, Chirrut has nothing in his face but an expression so neutral that there could only be a great depth of emotion behind it. Then he swings his legs over the side of the bed and carefully stands. 

"What are you doing?"

"Going home."

"Home, where the healers aren't? Yes, good idea."

"Are you ill? Then you can stay for the healers. Let me know when you are well, maybe I can come bring you stew." 

Baze growls and hefts his lightbow in one hand while he threads the other arm, welcome or not, through Chirrut's. He does not lead, but merely applies pressure here and there to keep them on a straight course in the corridors. Next to him, he can hear Chirrut counting steps under his breath. Occasionally he asks for their location in the Temple and then huffs either with frustration or satisfaction. It worries Baze that as they walk, he is bearing more and more of Chirrut's weight. 

The walk to their room seems longer than usual and Baze is almost glad Chirrut can't see the expressions of pity on the faces they pass. "Here we are," he announces and Chirrut slowly reaches out to brush the curtain aside. He unlinks his arm from Baze's and steps inside. Their beds are off to the left. He turns and steps slowly forward until the edge of the cot hits his knees. He turns and sits. With a sigh, he lays down and, as he does every night, moves over to his side of the pushed together beds. 

Baze watches him get comfortable, watching for any sign of pain or anger. Finding only tired acceptance, he says, "I will go get you stew. I'll be back soon."

Chirrut snaps, "I am not a child, Baze Malbus, for you to mother."

"No, you're a fool who doesn't realize he needs food for recovery, apparently." 

Chirrut catches the worry in the sarcasm and the urge to anger abates. "Don't forget to feed yourself, too. I know you do without me there to remind you. You look like a starving bantha." He hears Baze laugh. He had hoped it would work; the larger man's appetite is a thing to behold and "healthy" is the only word one can use for his physique. 

Baze returns quickly with a bowl of stew for each and he sits at their small table to eat it. He carefully doesn't watch the slow deliberate movements Chirrut makes with the spoon to learn its position relative to his mouth without sight. Only when Chirrut rests the spoon in the bowl and the bowl in his lap does Baze get up and cross the room to him. The bowl is empty, so he takes it to the table with his own then returns to the bed to lay down. 

"I thought you said it was morning. Sleeping already?"

"You think I've been able to sleep, with you getting yourself blown up and Jedi-killers on the loose?"

Chirrut quiets and turns on his side to face Baze. He doesn't know if the other man's eyes are open or shut to see, but he reaches out and finds Baze's arms already between them. He is tired, and if he closes his eyes he can sleep forearm to forearm with Baze like it is any other night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! I know it's a slow build, but it's my full head canon that Chirrut and Baze never really had a monumental declaration of love or first kiss, they've just always been together.

When Chirrut wakes, he hears the huffing and grunting that is morning meditation for his roommate. He turns on his side and imagines he can see Baze, clad only in flimsy sleep pants, pressing himself up from the ground and back down with his back straight and hard as a tree while muttering prayers under his breath. His arm muscles would be straining, sweat beading in the short hairs at the back of his neck. 

Chirrut doesn't say anything, content to listen and imagine. And to ignore the pain behind his eyes. After a bit, he hears Baze climb to his feet and the curtain rustle as he goes to the fresher. He thinks he should maybe get up and get dressed, but his limbs feel like durasteel and maybe he'll just stay in bed a little longer. 

He hears voices in the hall, so he is well warned and sits up before the Second Guardian, no- First Guardian now, and an entourage follow Baze inside. He hears their chairs dragged across the floor and feels a dip in the bed where Baze must be sitting. 

"I regret that it is not a good morning I can wish you, Guardians Imwe and Malbus," First Guardian says. "Guardian Imwe, I am Guardian To-ich, who was Second Guardian. I have taken the place of First Guardian of the Temple of the Kyber, since our previous was killed by clone troopers in the attack that wiped out our moon's Jedi."

"Guardian Malbus has told me. My greatest condolences for your and our losses," Chirrut says. 

"That was not the only incident in our Temple. Can you tell us what happened two days ago in the Kyberevn?" 

Chirrut tells them of the darkness in his head, the screaming, the explosion. 

"Before she went to meet with the troopers, First Healer described an imbalance in the Force. She had heard the beginnings of the Jedi slaughter. We think some crystals may have become destabilized and broke under the pressure. This would explain your experiences, as well. How are you now?"

"I could tell you if I had some light to see myself by."

The only sound in the awkward silence is Baze's groan. "Please forgive his terrible sense of humor, Guardians."

Chirrut thinks he hears a muffled chuckle from someone. 

First Guardian continues, "I understand you wish to recuperate in your own room. You are, of course, relieved of your duties until you and we feel it is appropriate. Guardian Malbus, that includes you, if you are to be his companion through his recovery. Healer Kri't'h is here with us to check you over. He will stop in periodically, but if you need anything, do not hesitate to send word. May the Force be with you."

Chirrut thanks him and then permits the healer to reapply the poultice over his cuts and scratches. He sighs in a little relief when a cold damp cloth is pressed over his eyes, and he hears the healer hum with understanding. Baze is asking how to apply the medicine himself and after teaching him, Kri't'h retreats with a promise to be back the next morning. 

"Your eyes hurt."

"They did. Better now."

"Would you have told me if the healer hadn't come?" Chirrut swears he can hear Baze's raised eyebrow. Almost as if this isn't the first time he's gotten scolded for not asking for help.

"I guess we'll never know!" he chirps back cheerfully, mostly just to annoy Baze. 

"Well stay here and keep that cloth on," Baze grumbles. "I'm gonna go find some food."

Chirrut does as he says and lets him go without argument. 

Two days later, when he's steady enough on his feet to make it to the fresher by himself, he's not as willing. 

"No, don't bring me any more stew. I am not a baby bird unable to catch his own food. We will go to it, even if I need to hunt it myself."

Baze shrugs. He is annoyed at Chirrut's stubbornness, when isn't he, but he always knew there would be a point Chirrut would push past. His pride wouldn't have it. Instead, he watches closely as Chirrut stands. He is still in his light sleep pants and tunic, but Baze had placed new clothes for him beside the bed. Chirrut finds them with his hand and Baze realizes it would probably be weird to watch him dress. "You want me to go?"

"I have nothing you don't. And an underfed monk is nothing special to the eye."

Baze settles on looking away, busying himself with his bow to make some sort of noise. He peeks back briefly, sees Chirrut feeling and separating each piece. The next time he looks, Chirrut is slowly tying the sash around himself. Baze steps in and tugs some of the edges into place. After a few days in bed, Chirrut looks more at ease in his Guardian robes. And if Baze doesn't look in his eyes, it would be easy to pretend it's a regular day. 

Baze takes his time getting his own things together, letting Chirrut make his own way out of the room. Even within the Temple, he always keeps his lightbow on him these days, so he hefts that as he walks into the corridor. Chirrut has one arm outstretched to the wall, brushing along it as he walks. Baze walks beside him, nodding to Guardians they pass, glad again that Chirrut can't see their curious looks as they greet him. Progress is slow, as Chirrut feels out the uneven flagstones underfoot. Finally they reach the turn towards the mess hall, but Chirrut keeps walking forward and stumbles when his hand meets air. Baze lunges to keep him upright, but the other man stumbles away, biting, "Don't touch me!"

Baze drops his hands, but raises an eyebrow. "Ever?"

They never discuss their casual intimacy, but perhaps Chirrut hears something other than teasing in his voice, for he reaches a hand out in Baze's direction. Baze steps forward until the outstretched hand touches his chest. Chirrut takes the next step forward and slides his hand up his chest and over his shoulder to curve around his neck. "In our room, when we're alone, you can always touch me if you like." Baze is embarrassed to find heat in his cheeks. "Out here, I need to do this on my own. I can't lean on someone forever." He drops his hand from toying with the short hairs at Baze's neck and strikes out for the intersection he had stumbled upon. 

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Baze and Chirrut walk all over the Temple. To the mess hall and back. To the healers' quarters to get checked out and back. To the training grounds, the meditation rooms, the Great Hall, the Entrance Hall, the armory, and back with Chirrut counting steps and turns and fitting every room to a mental map. Baze walks by his side, occasionally calling out a turn, and naming every room they pass. They walk each route a dozen times, until Chirrut can find his way with no guidance.

Once Chirrut's map is filled in, they walk through again with Baze naming and describing every statue, bust, lamp, tapestry, banner, and wall painting they pass. Chirrut's desire for a perfect mental recreation of the Temple is insatiable and, well, Baze is inclined to indulge him. And Chirrut doesn't complain if, when they're the only people in a corridor, Baze walks with a gentle hand at the small of his back. 

Towards the end of the first week, Chirrut asks to go to the Kyberevn. He feels Baze looking at him for some time before he starts describing the route. The hall is further from their room than most places and the turn list is long, but Chirrut is adamant about being able to navigate it flawlessly. 

The closer they get, the faster and more sure Chirrut walks, until they step inside. Chirrut takes a deep breath, dragging air into his lungs, and looks happier than he has since before his loss. 

"I am no longer blind, here," he says quietly. Baze leans in the doorway and watches as the blind man walks straight to a pedestal and touches the crystal on it. "I can hear each and every crystal; I know where each one is. I know where ones are missing." He walks into the middle of the room and drops to the floor. 

Baze starts forward like a shot, but realizes that Chirrut is merely sitting and is meditating in the middle of the room. With a sigh, Baze sits as well. He knows Chirrut and this could take a while. Then he thinks, Well, while we're here...

Baze slows his breathing, slows his heart, lets his thoughts flow out with them. Big questions have been plaguing him since he lay on a medical bed across from Chirrut, waiting for him to wake up, hearing the news of the Jedi. Why would the Force will this?

He was the oldest child and his family couldn't afford to feed everyone, so they took him to the Temple. All is as the Force wills it, and he is now a Guardian of the seventh duan. Chirrut's parents left him as a toddler on the front steps of the Temple. All is as the Force wills it, and not only did he also become a devout Guardian of the Whills, he became Baze's best friend. 

The Force is just, not fair, they were always told. Takes with one hand, gives with the other. But this is not just, this is wholesale slaughter. This is punishing the innocent. What just Force would call for that? Maybe the galaxy isn't run by the Force. Maybe it's...people. Civilization. Uncivilized civilization, at that. 

He reaches out with his mind in the way they were taught and feels nothing. Emptiness. Well, except for the quiet glow of Chirrut meditating, but he can always feel Chirrut. 

Is there a Force at work in the galaxy? What does it mean if there isn't? What is it all for? What have the last 36 years of his life been for, if there is no Force?

Baze feels his heart start to race, he's losing control, when Chirrut calls, "Baze?" It doesn't sound like the first time Chirrut called him. He stands and walks to where Chirrut is sitting, smiling. "I am sorry to wake you." Baze grumbles something indistinct, then takes Chirrut's outstretched hand and pulls him to his feet. They walk side by side out of the Kyberevn and towards the mess. 

Chirrut's head is swiveling as he traces the wall towards the more populous parts of the Temple. "I think the kyber opened my ears. I feel everything is more distinct. Is this how you hear with those comm discs on your head?" He laughs and braces himself against the wall as Baze gives him a shove. 

As they walk, Chirrut thinks the dark roiling cloud he felt around Baze in the Kyberevn must be the anger, fear, grief catching up to him. He feels it in pockets around the Temple, but he's surprised that it is hitting Baze so hard now.

Baze thinks, _I don't have to make any decisions now. I can still pray for guidance and see what I do, or don't, receive._

They are walking one of the exterior corridors and Baze can just see out one of the windows. There's a big galaxy outside the Temple walls, but that's never been Baze's goal. He only knows the Temple and the Holy City and he sees no reason why anything should change that. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for the emotional payoff! Thank you everyone for reading! Comments, questions, philosophies welcome.

Three weeks after the explosion, Baze is disassembling and cleaning the small Jedhan blaster he had bought as a novice, wiping down and oiling each part with care at their table. He's humming a folk song they hear played in the city. From his seat on the bed, Chirrut calls, "You are the Force, Baze."

"Am I now?" 

"Well you're everywhere I am, all the time. Isn't that the Force?"

Baze tries to hold in his laughter at the put-upon tone of voice. "It just so happens I was going to the armory this afternoon."

"I too have work this afternoon."

"The Kyberevn?"

"No, I'm not sure where it will be."

"You go alone?"

"Yes, as I have for years before and will for years after." Baze sounds like he has an objection. "But for your worrisome nature, I will stay where there are others." 

Again, Baze has known Chirrut would want to push back against any care or limitation and he knew he'd have to let him. And if he gets into trouble and learns that Baze Is Always Right, then he will have learned his lesson. 

 

Chirrut walks the Temple halls, hugging the walls and following the memorized route, until he emerges into the training court. He is pleased to hear the training master's voice and he crosses towards it, skirting where he hears the clashing of staff against staff. 

"Guardian Imwe, it is good to see you here. How may I be of service?"

"I would like to continue my training, Master. Privately."

She is quiet. Then, "Yes, I think that would be a good idea. Let us find a quieter spot."

Chirrut follows the sound of her robes as she frees some staves from a pile and then follows her into the Temple. He finds the wall with his hand once inside and counts his steps and turns as he follows her. He isn't sure where they are going, but he will add it to his mental map. 

"These were the training rooms of my predecessor, before I moved us out to the dust." Wood taps his hand and he folds his hands around the staff. "Let me see the first movement." 

Chirrut prays briefly, then begins the pattern dance. 

It does not go well. He has been practicing with staffs for 25 years and the patterns should be second nature. Now, he stumbles, unsure of a ground he can't see. And he keeps underestimating where the staff ends and rapping himself with it. Before long, he's tired and sore. 

"Guardian Imwe, that is enough for today. But let me speak with you about your learning process. You are currently trying to do as you did with your eyes without them. You still have other senses; learn them. Feel the Force flowing around your staff. Listen for the sound a weapon makes as it cuts the air towards you. I will teach you that when you have learned to listen." She squeezes his shoulder and leaves the room. 

Chirrut navigates from the training room to the mess hall and from the mess hall to his room. He searches for his sleep clothes (folded on a stool beside the bed, but he hadn't done it) and begins stripping off his outer robes. He is only in his pants when he hears the curtain brush aside and footsteps approach. Then Baze must catch sight of the bruises on his back and ribs and he begins to mutter. Chirrut ignores him, as usual, and pulls his tunic over his head, before laying his exhausted body to sleep. 

 

The next day, Chirrut is gone before Baze even wakes. He grumbles to himself, but he's planned a trip to NiJedha market after morning prayer anyway. It stings him that he usually goes with Chirrut, but Baze does not think Chirrut is remotely ready for the onslaught of bodies and noise in the city. His first stop is to an herbal woman he and Chirrut had once protected from spice dealers looking to acquire land. He buys a green goo, the same she had handed the two Guardians for their cuts and bruises from the resulting scuffle. Bacta does the job better, but it is rare and costs dear on this small moon. 

From there, Baze wanders the market, eying the wares and prices until he finds a likely looking stall. Run by a trader from the Yavin moons, branches, boards, and various wood pieces cover the table and floor. Baze hunches down to touch a couple long branches. He picks one up, then another, then another. This last, he carries out to the side of the stall and whips around in the beginnings of a pattern dance. The uneti wood is strong, yet supple. The price is more than Baze is comfortable with, but as an armorer, he knows the importance of a good strong wood. 

He brings his purchases back to the temple, stowing the branch first in the armory and the medicine in his room, and goes in search of Chirrut. He stops a Guardian walking to his post and asks, "Have you seen Guardian Imwe?" 

The Guardian gives him a strange look and says in an apparent non-sequitor, "Have you eaten today?" Baze thanks him and begins to hurry towards the supper hall. 

He practically walks into a group of initiates standing near the entrance. He follows their eyes to a figure sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor. "What is he doing?" 

A few shrug and others lean in to whisper guesses when a voice carries over. "He is listening. Fortunately I can still do that without my eyes." The speed with which the initiates hurry out of the room suggests to Baze that they had perhaps not been aware he could hear them. 

He walks over and stands in front of the sitting man. "What are you listening to?"

"Anything and everything. Where there are people in the room, how they move about. How many times they've gone back for seconds at meal time." Baze doesn't have to look around to see there is a guilty expression somewhere.

"You're putting people off their food here," he says with a small kick to Chirrut's foot. 

"Oh! see the brave Guardian, kicking the blind man."

"That was a tap; I'll show you a real kick..."

 

After an afternoon at the armory, Baze goes to dinner and finds Chirrut still sitting in the middle. This time, at least, it looks like someone has brought him food. With this many people in the hall, Baze is sure Chirrut can feel the stares. But as he watches from over his food, the new Second Guardian sits cross-legged across from Chirrut and says something that makes him laugh. 

Second Guardian claps his shoulder and gets up to leave about the same time Baze finishes discussing changes in the marketplace with his table. He crosses to Chirrut and asks, "Have you heard enough?"

"Do you ever close your eyes from seeing too much in a day? But if you are heading back to our room, I would join you."

Chirrut finally stands and traces his way back beside Baze. When they get to their room, Chirrut begins undressing, reaching for the night clothes Baze folds for him every morning once he is down to his pants. "Stop," Baze's voice commands. "Stay still," and he does. Baze opens the jar the herbalist gave him and sees Chirrut's head tilt at the sound of the top. 

"What is in the jar?" Without words, Baze shoves the open jar under his nose. Chirrut inhales and thinks for a moment. Then his face splits in a sweet smile. 

Baze dips two fingers into the jar and carefully starts smoothing the paste over the bruised spots on his ribs and lower back. Chirrut wonders briefly if he should protest the care, but the way his bruises cool and the way Baze's touch feels on his skin convince him to keep quiet. Besides, it's Chirrut's own way to care for Baze, letting him fuss. 

When every bruise has been touched, Chirrut reaches for the ceiling, enjoying the stretch in his body below the fading ache and the stiffness of sitting still all day. He'll have to sleep on his stomach so the gel won't come off on the sheets, but he knows he'll feel better in the morning. 

The next afternoon finds Chirrut back in the training room. He slowly paces out the room, learning the dimensions and stumbling across their discarded staffs at one point. He hears the footfalls before the training master announces herself and he is standing ready with his staff in the middle of the room when she enters. 

"Good, you mean to waste no time. Have you thought about what I said?"

"Yes, Master. I believe I am more ready today."

He hears her walk across the room and pick up the other staff. "Good. Fighting position. I am going to move around you. You will simply turn to face me, wherever I am."

Chirrut tightens his grip and listens. She moves slowly at first and it is no challenge to track her position. He hears her feet on stone, the whisper of robes. She picks up her speed, then starts weaving closer and further, reversing direction, tumbling and spinning, jumping through the air. Chirrut is growing dizzy and she is one step ahead of him at times, even managing to tap his shoulder once before he can turn and block. 

Finally, there's silence. He hopes that means the training master is standing still, but he wouldn't be surprised if she has a stealth mode. "You did well. You are learning to open your ears in ways your peers do not. It will grow easier as your body adapts to the change in inputs."

Chirrut continues to open his ears over the next weeks. One day, he stands in the middle of the room while small pillows of rice are lobbed at him and he learns to listen for their movement through the air to dodge. When he masters that, more Guardians join the training so the projectiles come from all sides. Another day, he stands ready with his staff to block the training master's strikes. When he can hear and block every attack, again more Guardians join until he can fight off a group. 

It's not always easy going, but Chirrut is slowly approaching his old skill on the training court.

* * *

In the meantime, Baze's days begin to fall into their usual patterns. Breaking fast and Temple prayer in the morning, the armory in the afternoon, spending time with Chirrut in the evenings. He begins bringing his armory work back to their room, carving staffs and adjusting bows while talking with Chirrut who prays or trains in what small floorspace they have. Baze tells him that there is too much work to be done, but does not say that his afternoons are mostly spent peeling the bark off Chirrut's staff and slowly hardening it over a small coal fire. 

He no longer prays over his work, as he had before. His faith in a Force that can't be seen was thoroughly shaken that day in the Kyberevn and nothing has yet restored it. He searches for guidance every day over his morning workout and still mouths the words at Temple prayer. 

One morning Baze is doing his press-ups, packing the distraction and extraneous thoughts away in a mental box with the stretch and burn in his body. He has realized that he's been listening, waiting for some sort of sign. He thinks, _I can't wait forever because I am scared to go on my own. The Force may will, but I_ choose _. I can believe that there is no Force._

Over his shoulder, he can feel Chirrut listening to his body and sounds drifting in from the corridor. _But can I just leave? Leave my home, my only friend, my whole life? I think I'm needed here_ , he thinks guiltily, considering how Chirrut would hate to hear that. 

_I will stay. Go through the motions, say the words. No one needs to know and I will stay for as long as I can._ He stands, decision made, and goes to the fresher to wash off the sweat and guilt. 

 

A few days later, Baze is helping a Guardian tune his new lightbow and walks him back to his room, discussing maintenance and a possible trip into the desert for real practice. It's early, so he thinks he might find Chirrut and go to dinner with him. He figures he'll try the training courts first, then the Kyberevn. 

He doesn't end up getting as far as the training yard when he hears the body sounds of a fight echoing down the corridor. Baze follows the sound and pauses in a doorway. Inside are a couple straw and clay training puppets and Chirrut, who is furiously attacking one. His upper robe and undershirt are off, so he's only in his lower robe and pants. Sweat glistens on his back and Baze scowls. The fool hasn't even wrapped his hands. 

Chirrut dances around the puppet and continues to pummel it. Baze can see his face now and knows this isn't about training. There is strong emotion, anger perhaps? Frustration, definitely. And he guesses a little grief for what he has lost. 

Chirrut's knuckles are split and bloody now, but he keeps at it. He has always been so calm and collected, easygoing enough to taunt his opponents in training, that to see him fighting rough with his face so vulnerable makes Baze unable to look away, for all that he feels like a voyeur in his friend's head. A voyeur in other ways as well, maybe, as he watches the furious movements of Chirrut's body. He keeps his muscles close under his skin and within his slender frame, but Baze can see the flex of his arms as they strike and recoil, the roll of his back muscles, the tightening of his abdominals. Fighting bare-chested is a good look for him, like the Jedhan glory hunters of old. 

After a while, Chirrut steps back, then sinks to the ground, utterly spent. His chest is heaving and his hands shaking. Baze debates helping him up, thus revealing that he'd been watching, when Chirrut pushes himself up and staggers over to a wall, where he has left a canteen of water. Baze slips away.

That night, he takes Chirrut's hands without a word and applies the herbal poultice to his broken skin and knuckles. He doesn't say that he was there. Chirrut doesn't say that he knows.

* * *

Work on Chirrut's staff goes on. By now, it's light as a feather and whips through the air on experimental swings like a saber. The next part is more complicated, but Baze has always been good at weapon technology. Years before, a Corellian pilgrim had come through with a technologically advanced staff that Baze had quietly inspected every time they were in the same room. Finally the cyborg, laughing at his awe, allowed him to hold it and see how it had been made. Following that guideline, Baze now fit a battery pack along the shaft and capped a small lamp onto the end. He makes sure to be alone in the armory that day, for into the cap he places a sliver of kyber that had fallen out of Chirrut's robes as First Healer had treated him. 

He spends the next week polishing and oiling the staff until it gleams. Then it's time. The next day he goes to the training yard and sees Chirrut crossing staffs with one of the senior Guardians. He watches, for a bit. Chirrut is always moving and his staff is a blur in his hands. The match ends when he spins backward, jamming the staff behind him, but he misjudges his opponent's location and is nearly disarmed. The two bow and separate, then Chirrut turns his head towards Baze in the archway. His sense for the kyber never leads him wrong.

"Why don't you come try it, then?" Baze calls out. 

Chirrut smiles at his voice and approaches. "What am I trying? To spar with you? I won't go easy, you know."

Without saying anything, Baze presses the staff into Chirrut's hand. Fully distracted, Chirrut runs his hands along the length, feeling every knot and contour in it. He stops at the top, feeling delicately around the cap. 

"You know we already have enough staffs for the whole Temple," he says, but the brightness of his smile and his hands caressing the wood tell Baze that he is more than pleased. 

"And you would complain of shoddy workmanship on everything but the best, I'm sure." Baze sees the curious glances being thrown their way from the Guardians and novices behind them. The training master has a slight smile on her face. "Only, I was thinking a good staff could be more than just a weapon. You've seen blind men in the city with their walking sticks?"

Chirrut hadn't thought of them, but he had seen the blind before, tapping their canes or sweeping them in front as they walk, dodging market stalls and rushing people. He bows to Baze. Based on the body heat he can feel in front of him and the breath of air when Baze speaks, Chirrut reaches out to where Baze's arm should be and, finding it, he grips hard. "This gift does you honor, my friend. Thank you."

"I've managed to keep you out of trouble so far in these twenty-some years. Can't have you trip and break your neck behind my back." Baze's voice is gruff, but Chirrut can hear the embarrassment and pleasure that he is pleased. 

"Good. Now teach me to use it! Grab a staff and we will spar!"

Chirrut has been picking up less bruises recently and Baze sees why. He is clearly using some sense other than sight and he dodges Baze's first feints and lunges with ease. Chirrut laughs with pleasure and meets the blows when Baze picks up speed. It continues, Baze striking harder and faster when he sees that Chirrut can meet him at the level.

"Testing me? You'd be better off testing yourself!" he teases as he nearly slides through Baze's defense. Baze in turn spins around with a back to front strike, using first one end of his staff then the other when he comes around to meet it, and then pulls back so the wood merely kisses Chirrut's throat. Applause sounds from those training around them and Chirrut and Baze bow to each other once their staffs are lowered. 

The training master comes over and grips their shoulders. "An excellent display. Guardian Imwe, we will put that weapon through more work tomorrow." Thus dismissed, the two men head towards home.

Once inside, back on the stone floors, Chirrut taps the ground and listens, head cocked. He moves a few more steps inside and taps again. 

"What do you hear?" Baze asks.

"The wood makes sound against the stone. That reverberates against the stone walls. Except by the archway, where sound escapes outside. The crystal is humming too." He slowly moves the lamp end out and around him in a circle. "The humming changes as it moves with respect to the walls." 

Baze leads them back to their room as Chirrut is too absorbed with learning the sounds of wood, stone, and crystal to remember to count steps and turns. 

 

That night, they're lying on their sides in bed, when Chirrut admits, "I worry that I'll forget you."

"For my sins, I didn't think I'd get away from you long enough for you to forget me."

"I mean, when I think of you in 10, 20, 30 years, will I picture you as I last saw you or will I not have a face to put to your voice?"

"Either way, you won't have to see me grow old. But, Chirrut, if you're afraid of forgetting what I look like, learn a new way to see." He lifts one of Chirrut's hands to his cheek and holds still. 

Chirrut caresses Baze's cheek, his thumb brushing his cheekbone. His hand slides down to hold Baze's chin for a moment, then two fingers trace Baze's mouth. Baze thinks about nipping at them, but figures it's better to let Chirrut be. After learning each curve and bow of Baze's lips, going back over them when he begins to smile at the touch, the two fingers run up on his cheek to the wide, flat ridge of his nose. From his nose, he strokes across Baze's forehead, across his protruding brow, and delicately around one eye and then the other. 

He feels tension in Baze's body and he moves his hand behind his head, cradling it. He tugs gently on one of Baze's ears and he feels a shiver roll down his body. Chirrut smirks a little and pulls Baze's head forward until their foreheads meet. At that point he just has to angle his head for their lips to meet. 

The kiss is every bit as sweet and chaste as the first time until Chirrut, with a move as graceful and swift as to belong on the training court, flips to straddle Baze. The larger man lifts an eyebrow, bemused, but his head slams back into his pillow as Chirrut drags his hands down Baze's body. It appears the blind man wants to memorize more than his face. 

Hands slide through dark, curling hair on his chest and brush his nipples, which tighten. Baze is grateful for the control over his body zama-shiwo has taught him; Chirrut is concentrating on each plane and contour and Baze wants to wriggle and buck under the attention. Instead, he reaches to grasp the hem of Chirrut's tunic and drags it over his head. 

Chirrut lifts his head and smirks at Baze. He practically purrs, "Is there anything else you'd like me to take a look at?"

Baze raises an eyebrow and rolls his hips under the other man's body.

"Patience, my friend," Chirrut says in a voice low and smoky. Baze closes his eyes and thinks this is going to drive him mad. On the other hand, he could easily get addicted to this endless touching. It is nothing they haven't done before, when curiosity about kissing as teens turned into fumbling with each other's bodies as young men turned into nights of trust, pleasure, and fun between...whatever they were. Friends. No, just two people who care about each other. Partners? They've never put a label on it, except that they know in the back of their minds that they never want to be one without the other. 

This...intense concentration is new and Baze isn't sure he can last much longer before pinning Chirrut to the bed with hands and lips. Chirrut chuckles, as if he feels Baze's growing impatience (well, maybe he can), and leans over until their chests are flush. His hands are back on Baze's face and he kisses him. Baze gets the distinct feeling that his face is being studied, but Chirrut just shifted backwards and is rolling his hips and he can't seem to think about anything but that. 

Maybe, just this one time, Baze will lay back and let Chirrut take the lead. He stares into milky blue eyes and feels like the sky is crashing down around him. 

 

Some time later, the storm has passed, though Baze still looks caught in its wake. Chirrut, despite being naked, looks as calm as if caught in the middle of meditation. 

"You should know there are secrets you cannot keep from me," Chirrut says conversationally. Baze is hazy in the afterglow, but tenses as he tries to parse what was just said. "Especially when it's something I born sensing. There's kyber here, and not just in my staff." Baze lets himself enjoy the possessive nature of "my staff", then rolls off the cot. 

Chirrut hears him rummaging through his monk's chest. The bed creaks under him as he settles back in, then he takes Chirrut's hand and guides it up, probably near his face or chest. It turns out to be his neck and there is a thin leather cord. He tugs experimentally and it resists; a leather thong around Baze's neck then. He traces his fingers down the leather until he feels warmth to his touch- kyber. 

"This and the one in your staff fell out of your robes when I put you down in medical. I thought-- I thought you'd be able to hear me better with this." Chirrut is delighted and leans across Baze's broad chest to kiss the crystal and the chest below it. 

"They must be from the same crystal. And we are one together in the Force, as they are. You're a sap, Baze, to be making such gestures," he teases lightly. 

"It's too bad there's nothing that works the other way around; I could use help finding you before you get into trouble," Baze retorts. He tosses Chirrut his clothes from the floor and slips his own pants on.

"It may not go easily, Baze, but it will go, in the end. The Force is with us." Chirrut is starting to nod off and so doesn't sense the flicker of discomfort that crosses Baze's face. The discomfort is soothed when he looks back at Chirrut's face. 

They sleep that night with Baze's arm around his middle and Chirrut's head on his shoulder, hand resting over heart and kyber.


End file.
